I think about calling Ceci, but the thought of hearing that faint disappointment in her voice makes me stop. She pretends well, but I’ve known her too long. It’s easier for both of us if she just assumes I won’t be home early.
Hours pass before I even notice the fatigue setting in. I’m in a good rhythm, clearing tomorrow’s work in advance, when I sense someone standing in front of me.
I look up, and my gaze follows the curve of a navy-blue dress that fits a little too well, the neckline cut just enough to make you wonder.
“I knocked. Three times. You didn’t hear.”
“Maya,” I say, eyes meeting hers. “Working late again?”
The look she gives me says she knows I was staring. She enjoys it. And honestly, I didn’t bother to hide it.
“I could say the same about you, sir.” She bites her lip.
“This is my normal,” I reply evenly. “And drop the ‘sir.’ Everyone here calls me Colin.”
“Colin,” she repeats slowly, like she’s tasting it.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, cutting through the tension.
She holds out a few reports. We go through them, line by line, until there’s nothing left to discuss.
But it’s only the first of many nights. Before long, she comes by more often.
Every day there’s a reason. A file, a question, an errand that could easily wait until morning. And every day, I let her.
Before long, she’s doing tasks I’d normally leave for Margaret. Then, conversations that start with work drift into something else.
Something I don’t name, because naming it would make it real.
I tell myself it’s nothing. That I’m allowing it because it’s meaningless.
Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Maya
The first time I met Colin, almost a month ago, that old saying“you take my breath away”took on an entirely new meaning.
No photo, no video, not even seeing him from across the office prepared me for what it feels like to stand close to him.
Being near him is a complete sensory takeover. The scent of his cologne, the force of his presence, the unspoken authority that seems to shift the air around him.
Every detail feels intentional, sculpted. He’s the kind of man a Renaissance artist would’ve sold his soul to immortalize.
He’s captivating.
Tall. Blond. Steel-gray eyes that didn’t just see, they evaluated, set in a fair-skinned face with clean lines and striking contrast. Broad shoulders, solid and unmissable.
Everything about him was controlled. Measured.
He didn’t smile when our eyes met. He didn’t have to.
There was heat beneath the restraint. The dangerous kind.
I almost made a fool of myself that first day. A stutter, a nervous laugh, but I caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. It wasn’t mockery. It was curiosity. And that told me everything I needed to know.
From that moment on, I made it my mission to stay on his mind, even if only for a second at a time.
It wasn’t hard to find him. A meeting with Jonathan here, a stop by the PR floor there, a coffee run that just happened to align with his schedule. Whenever our eyes met, and he gave me that brief, measured nod, I let my gaze linger, saying all the things words couldn’t.
